


Pie of Love

by Whisper132



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-08
Updated: 2008-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji goes to Tezuka's for dinner.  There are complications, discussions, Sweaters of Love, and pies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pie of Love

  
After numerous efforts and much frustration, Fuji finally had to admit that he was a failure at baking pies. He would have settled for a normal fruit pie, but the fates were against him and the lychee pie he'd planned to make for his dinner at Tezuka's was less a pie and more a soupy mass of floating crust and stringy fruit.

He was doomed.

"Just go buy one," Yuuta grumbled. He was covered in flour – the result of a buttered hand and a measuring cup that didn't so much fall as fly from Syuusuke's grasp while Failed Pie #3 was burning in the oven.

Fuji Syuusuke was not going to present his boyfriend's family with a store bought pie. If he couldn't so much as make a pie, what were they going to think of him? Tezuka could roast turkeys, bake bread, and decorate cakes to look like Mount Everest all in one day. And he could carry them on the train to Fuji's house without so much as a candy mountain goat budging or a drumstick dislodging. The pie was going to be the best damn pie in the world, even if he had to stay up all night to make it.

  
****

  
Tezuka looked around his house in disgust. There was dust everywhere and the tatami in the family room looked old and ratted. Beyond that, the vases in the dining room were empty and all the flowers in his mother's garden were either infested with bugs or dead, except for the tulips, which were out as a centerpiece. Nothing said "Welcome to Our Family!" like the flower of the dead.

Naturally, he could purchase a bouquet at a florist, but then the dinner would seem too formal. This was an introductory meeting, a chance for Fuji to meet his family and for Tezuka to gauge when it might be best to inform his parents that, no, he wasn't planning on marrying a woman because the thought of sleeping with one was repulsive. Instead, he would rather live out his days in a quaint country cabin with Fuji, hunting wild game and fishing for survival. Fuji was unaware of the last bit, but Tezuka was sure he'd warm up to the idea given time. If not, there were plenty of very reasonable time shares up in Hokkaido. They could spend the winter in Tokyo and go up north to spend the summer, climbing mountains and swimming naked in ponds.

But first he had to get through the dinner, making sure his family didn't disgrace him and Fuji wasn't too nervous. When Fuji was nervous, he tended toward the more sinister side of his personality. Switching the salt and sugar was not going to win over Tezuka's grandfather, though it might get a chuckle from his father and an indulgent sigh from his mother. Still, grandfather had the trust fund that was going to buy Tezuka's cabin.

Things had to be done properly.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, even though nobody was in the room to hear him. Grabbing his coat, he made his way down the street. There was a nice semi-blind lady with a beautiful garden; she would never notice a few missing.

  
*****

  
By three in the afternoon, Fuji had an assortment of pies covering the dining table. The majority of the pies were the fruits of Syuusuke's frustrated efforts. The three pies he was going to take for the dinner were Yumiko's pity pies. She had divined his failure the night before and, while he was passed out atop a bag of flour, she stole into the kitchen and baked a miracle. She used some of the lychee and pumpkin that Syuusuke chopped so, technically, he could say he helped to make them but Tezuka would know Fuji had little hand in the baking when he saw the perfectly pinched crusts. Fuji's fine motor skills off the court sometimes left much to be desired.

Still, the pies were edible and better than anything Tezuka could make, which was the goal. The pies screamed, "Look at me! I'm a superior pie made by the hand of a master! Don't you want to accept him into your home and not freak out if he gropes your son in public?" The last was, perhaps, a bit of wishful thinking but Fuji saw the way some of the girls at school looked at Tezuka, even if Tezuka was too busy glaring at Fuji's admirers to notice. Both of their problems would be solved if Fuji could just reach out and touch his boyfriend without fear of the school finding out and phoning their parents. If their parents already knew, then the worst that would happen would be a grounding instead of possible homicide or, worse, one of them might be sent to St. Rudolph or Fudomine.

"You're worrying for nothing," Yuuta grumbled. He was crouched at Syuusuke's feet, hemming his brother's pant legs up because the only good dress slacks in the house belonged to their father, who had a good three inches of height on his eldest son. "And stop moving or I'm going to sew this into your skin." The glint in Yuuta's eyes said that he would like nothing better than for Syuusuke to arrive at Tezuka's house with a limp and a bleeding ankle. He was just upset because there was some function at school with that greasy manager that he had to forego for the honor of helping Syuusuke on his big day.

When Syuusuke convinced Tezuka to move into a nice, picturesque rice farm in the south, they'd be sure to offer Yuuta a summer job. Maybe they'd offer one to Yuuta's little friend, too, provided they were still speaking and Yuuta hadn't found someone better. (Syuusuke prayed nightly that Yuuta found someone better.) Fuji cruised real estate websites every week in the hopes of finding the perfect southern getaway. He wanted something decently sized with a small rice paddy and space for a dog. Tezuka didn't care much for cats or dogs, but that was because his grandfather was allergic and only allowed fish in the house. If Fuji introduced Tezuka to the glory of animal companionship with a smaller dog, then the future would open up for the Mastiff that Fuji had wanted since he was five and saw one on television. He was going to name the dog Bruce and let the neighborhood children take rides on its back.

"Do you think the plaid socks are okay, or should I wear the black?" Syuusuke wiggled his toes. "Should I get a melon on the way there in case his grandfather doesn't like pie?"

Yuuta finished his last stitch and stood. "Who doesn't like pie?"

Syuusuke heard horror stories of Tezuka Kunikazu. The man, during his days in the police force, used to catch murderers and bring them down with naught but a length of twine and a safety pin. Fuji was waiting to apprentice himself to this master craftsman but, first, he had to convince the elder that he meant the Tezuka family no harm. "I'll bring a melon," he decided. "Just in case."

Yuuta shrugged. "I still think you're making too big a deal out of this. It's just dinner."

Of course Yuuta wouldn't understand. Yuuta didn't have to compete with Tezuka every day, didn't know the levels of perfection required to keep Tezuka's interest. This dinner was the starting point. If everything went well, he and Tezuka could enter into high school with a clear conscious and free of fear. They could play tennis together, be top of the class together, and destroy the competition together – though Tezuka would call it "striving for excellence" instead of destroying the competition, but the feelings were the same. And, on weekends, they could practice tennis together on a romantically lit street court and walk home to Tezuka's house, side by side. They would eat a dinner prepared, with love, by Tezuka's mother before moving up to Tezuka's room under the guise of studying but with the actual intention of studying, talking tennis, and enjoying a quick kiss or two.

"You're making a weird face. Stop it."

No, Yuuta wouldn't understand the feelings of adults.

  
******

  
"Kunimitsu, why don't you wear the shirt your father and I bought you for your birthday?" Tezuka Ayana held up a purple and pink plaid polo. "It looks so good on you." She smiled and waved the shirt in the air. "I ironed it for you, just to make sure it was presentable."

The shirt, like every other bit of lavender and pink in his closet, was an eyesore that he pretended to like because insulting his mother would enrage his father and grandfather, which meant Tezuka had a one way trip to a private school in Okinawa that would "straighten him out." The brochures showed burly students fixing trucks and lifting oil drums. No tennis, no Fuji, just the promise of manual labor and a bevy of girly boy jokes awaited Kunimitsu should he disappoint his family in any way.

"Thank you, mother." He would wear the shirt and pretend, as always, that he was wearing something masculine and befitting the captain of Seigaku's distinguished tennis team. Fuji wouldn't say anything, just smile his secretive and somewhat snide little smile and tell Tezuka that he looked very nice. Syuusuke probably thought Tezuka had the fashion sense of a barnyard animal. When Tezuka's mother started knitting sweaters, then Syuusuke would know Kunimitsu's shame. The bunnies and the frogs on lily pads would burn away any pride Fuji might have in his wardrobe. Not even Tezuka's grandfather could escape the Sweaters of Love.

"Isn't your friend coming soon, Kunimitsu? Why isn't the table polished? The floor swept?" Tezuka Kuniharu tossed a polishing cloth at his son. "Get to it."

Kunimitsu obeyed, even though the table was perfectly fine and, really, sweeping the floor wasn't going to do much for the small layer of spilled miso and other grime that coated it.

The doorbell rang.

"That should be your friend," his mother sang, taking the broom from him. "Why don't you show him in while I get some tea ready?"

Tezuka thought his mother was far too excited about Fuji's visit. While he understood that he'd never invited a friend over before, he didn't think the occasion warranted the fuss she was making. If she didn't calm down, Fuji was going to think Tezuka belonged to a house of freaks. Tezuka prided himself on being the stable influence in Fuji's life. If he lost that foothold, there was no telling how Fuji might take it.

Opening the door, Tezuka blurted out, "Please come in, the house is a mess," while Fuji shoved two pies into his hands.

"I brought dessert," Fuji said, adjusting the melon under his arm. "I hope you like them."

Tezuka looked at the pies in his hands, at the neatly pinched crusts and the near-perfect golden tones. "Give Yumiko-san our thanks."

  
*****

  
Fuji didn't expect Tezuka's house to adhere to the same levels of cleanliness as the Regulars' clubhouse. The tatami looked in need of repair and the hallway was…sticky. He expected a much more Spartan, much tidier place with a wall of photos from Tezuka's elementary school years and perhaps a shelf for his tennis trophies. Instead, there was a wreath made of dried straw and a swordfish on the wall of the company room. There were cobwebs on the swordfish's tail.

"Make yourself at home." Tezuka Ayana fluffed a pillow and set it down for Fuji. "Kunimitsu's been looking forward to your visit. He made the chicken for tonight's dinner himself."

Of course he made it, Fuji thought. He probably grew and slaughtered the chicken as well. It was really a mystery as to why Fuji enjoyed Tezuka's company so much. Tezuka was the Great Pillar of Seigaku, Mr. Perfect, the Great and All Powerful Buchou – everything that raised the hackles on Fuji's neck and made him hold back his skill, just because Tezuka wanted him to go all out.

But there was a softer side to Tezuka, too. It was hidden from view, covered over by stern glares and twenty laps for breaking concentration during practice. When the other members of the team were away Tezuka smiled, stole bits from Fuji's lunch, and admitted to falling asleep in class with his eyes open. He also baked chickens, made pudding from scratch to share with Fuji after lunch, and helped Yuuta with homework via text message because Yuuta was too embarrassed to ask Syuusuke for help.

"I didn't make the chicken," Tezuka whispered. "Mom made it. She made the soup, too."

He was just trying to make Fuji feel better about the pity pies. "You don't need to be modest, Tezuka. I wouldn't be insecure over a chicken." There were plenty of other reasons Fuji could feel insecure; the chicken just served to piss him off.

"Kunimitsu's always in the kitchen," Tezuka's father said, clapping his son on the back. "And he's always getting after us to clean this place up but we never listen, do we son?"

Watching Tezuka blush and try to run away while still seeming in control of the situation was making the previous pie pity somewhat worth it. Still, Tezuka's grandfather had yet to make an appearance and Tezuka Kunikazu would know everything once he walked into the room, Fuji was sure. Once the old man revealed how Fuji purposefully left a large mark on the back of Tezuka's shoulder during the nationals match against Hyoutei, Tezuka's parents would change their cooperative tune and give Fuji glares twice as lethal as their son's – even though Tezuka's glares weren't so much scary as cute to Fuji, who was rarely on their receiving end and, even when he was, he knew ways to distract Tezuka from whatever thoughts of punishment were rampaging through his head. Except the laps. Tezuka could be mid-coitus and still have the presence of mind to order laps.

"Kunimitsu, why don't you show Fuji-kun around the house until your grandfather gets back from his meeting." Tezuka's mother gave them each a carrot stick 'to tide them over' and ushered them out of the kitchen.

"Ignore anything they say," Tezuka said, staring at his carrot stick. "I don't know what's wrong with them today." He bit into the carrot. "They could be aliens."

If Fuji told Inui that Tezuka mentioned aliens of his own free will, the data specialist would say that the chance of Tezuka speaking about aliens was .0000001%. The chances of Tezuka speaking about muskrats, tap dancing octopi, and a tennis playing baboon were equally as slim, but all had come up within the last week, mostly in relation to Echizen and his chances of winning a match against Tezuka.

"Where are your trophies?" Fuji asked as they walked past the entryway.

"In my room."

Fuji looked about before looping his arm through Tezuka's. "I'd like to see those first, please."

  
*****

  
To say that Tezuka was embarrassed would be the same as calling Oishi slightly compulsive. If there were a hole, Tezuka would have found it and hid in it until his parents withered away from old age or Fuji mysteriously acquired a half hour's worth of amnesia.

Nevertheless, Tezuka was _ready._ Despite utter humiliation and the hideous reality of his family, once the door to his bedroom was closed and locked, he automatically moved to fold Fuji in his arms. As Fuji settled in, arms around Tezuka's waist and head resting on Tezuka's collar bone, Tezuka inhaled the scent of Fuji's hair. It smelled strongly of shampoo. Fuji would have to have showered right before he left to have his hair be this damp, or perhaps he used a bit of gel to keep his hair from giving in to frizzing as it did on particularly humid mornings. Tezuka liked the frizzing; it gave Fuji a wild, untamed look and, on those mornings when the tensai's hair was less than its usual perfection, Tezuka felt secure that anything that might transpire in the equipment room would not be given away by Fuji's mussed hair.

"My grandfather's worse," Tezuka whispered, resting a cheek atop Fuji's head. "Don't look him in the eye and wait three breaths before answering any questions. He's usually thinking and hasn't finished what he wants to say." He gave Fuji a squeeze. "Never interrupt him."

Fuji turned and kissed Tezuka's cheek. "I thought your parents were nice. They're very proud of you."

Tezuka wondered if Fuji realized he was gritting his teeth.

Deep in his stomach, Tezuka had a feeling that this might be the end of them. If his family objected to his friend, there was no way he could ever admit to them that he and Fuji shared something deeper than could be found on a tennis court or in the halls between classes. If Fuji objected to his family – only a saint would tolerate his grandfather – then any interaction they had would be tainted.

With these thoughts tumbling through his head, he held onto Fuji tighter and waited for his mother to call them down to dinner.

  
*****

  
"There's not much to you, is there boy?" Tezuka Kunikazu appraised Fuji from behind his cup of sake. "You said this is your friend from tennis club, Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka nodded. "He's our number two player."

Fuji didn't enjoy having his place on the tennis team be the determining factor for his character, but perhaps it would shut the old man up long enough for them to eat the meal. Yuuta's constant grumbling was nothing on this old geezer's rude insistence that Fuji wasn't qualified to be Tezuka's friend. Still, Fuji was warned to sit through the old man's rantings and not interrupt. Interrupting would just make it worse.

"He looks like a girl." Kunikazu squinted. "You talked him up so much, Kunimitsu, that I was expecting someone a little more manly." The old man waved his thoughts away with what Fuji suspected was a drunken hand. It appeared the geezer couldn't hold his sake.

"Grandfather, perhaps we could discuss this after we've finished dinner. Kunimitsu's wonderful chicken is getting cold." Ayana motioned for Kunikazu to take the first slice of the chicken. "Please help yourself."

With the old man eyeing the chicken as if it were about to explode, Fuji was able to reach stealthily under the table and give Tezuka's knee a squeeze. Tezuka's family may not have noticed, but their beloved son was grinding his teeth and holding onto his chopsticks as if they were deadly blades. At Fuji's touch, Tezuka's shoulders relaxed.

Of course, just because he was forgiving Tezuka for being descended from a classless bastard didn't mean Fuji wasn't going to use the situation as blackmail for the rest of their lives – and they would be together for life, if only to spite that vile old man. No one called Fuji Syuusuke a girl and walked away unscathed.

Fuji felt Tezuka's hand on his knee. Quickly, he placed his hand over Tezuka's. Both hands trembled, Fuji's with rage and Tezuka's, in all likelihood, with the stress that came from familial helplessness.

"I understand you have siblings, Fuji-kun." Tezuka's father passed the chicken. "We tried to give Kunimitsu a brother but-" He trailed off, laughing and scratching at the back of his head. "I'm afraid it's my fault."

Tezuka's eyebrow twitched and his mother hid behind her napkin. "Oh, such conversation for the dinner table," she said. "And we don't need another son, dear. We have all we could ever ask for." She pushed some seasoned pumpkin squares toward Fuji. "Eat up, Fuji-kun, if you're like Kunimitsu then you've got quite an appetite. I'm always having to cook him something so he doesn't starve." She sighed and leaned on her husband's shoulder. "It just reminds me of how fast he's growing up. Soon he won't even need us anymore."

Was Tezuka going to be infertile at a young age? Was that what his parents were trying to imply? Fuji glanced at Tezuka out of the corner of his eye. The captain was easy to spot; his face was a red that Fuji had never seen on human flesh before.

"Nonsense!" Kunikazu piped up, a bit of chicken hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "Science can fix anything these days. You two just don't want to pay out the money!" He slurped the chicken in and chewed it before continuing. "Now you listen here, Kunimitsu and you, too, Fuji-chan, when you get yourselves into a fix, you have to grab the situation by the throat and hold on until it submits to you! You don't get anywhere in life by laying down and being a pansy about things." He thumped his chest and raised his sake glass. "Look at me! Do you get to be the youngest police chief in your prefecture by sitting around, waiting for things to happen to you?"

The old man's gaze implied that Fuji was expected to answer. After waiting a few seconds to be sure, Fuji responded with a calm, un-hate-filled, "No, sir."

"Good boy. Knew I liked you from the moment I saw you." The old man burped and patted his stomach. "That's a good chicken you made there, Kunimitsu. Maybe next time you can bring a lady friend home and you can give her a few lessons, eh?"

While the old man continued to laugh, Fuji concentrated on his meal and not stabbing his asparagus with his chopsticks. He could vent his frustrations later – there were plenty of street courts and egos in need of bursting. If Fuji happened to call his opponent "horrible old man" then that was just a slip of the tongue.

  
*****

  
Not only was Fuji going to think Tezuka was…ill equipped, but Fuji was going to think Tezuka would later evolve into a belching, belligerent elderly man. Gone were the dreams of their mountain cottage. Now Tezuka was doomed to a retirement home and an occasional, polite postcard from Fuji and his hot Cuban boyfriend Rico as they cruised around the world with Rico's wealthy, respectable family.

"I'll get the pies," Tezuka sighed, taking an armful of plates into the kitchen. Perhaps his grandfather would have an adverse reaction to the pie, die, and leave Tezuka and Fuji to their future bliss.

"I'll help," Fuji called after him, entering the kitchen with dirty chopsticks and beverage cups. When they could hear the adults were in conversation, Fuji whispered, "I'm going to kill him. Pass me the serving knife, Tezuka?"

Tezuka kept firm hold of the knife and began cutting the lychee pie. "I'll cut, you put the whipped cream on them." He concentrated on cutting the pie into five equal and perfect slices. It was a lot to eat, true, but nerves had burned away the majority of dinner and Tezuka was starving. If he made all of the pieces large, then no one would know he was being a glutton.

"After dinner, Grandpa usually goes to bed." Tezuka glanced toward Fuji and offered a weak smile. "It's almost over."

Fuji smiled back and began spooning whipped cream onto the pieces of pie. While he worked, he hummed to himself and swayed to the music in his head.

Tezuka considered himself mentally mature for his age. He was above average intelligence, though not as freakishly smart as Inui, and had set reasonable goals and acquired the means to achieve those goals. In some things, however, his brain still functioned on the level of a fourteen year old who was alone with his boyfriend in a kitchen.

Fuji started as Tezuka's hand impacted with his rear, sending a spray of whipped cream into Tezuka's face. "I'll…get a towel," the tensai snickered, flicking a bit off Tezuka's nose and giving it a taste. Fuji looked around the kitchen. "Do you have towels?"

Grumbling, Tezuka walked to the sink and rinsed his face off, drying it on his shirt. "This is fine," he said. "Let's take the pie out."

His one attempt to be seductive in weeks ruined, Tezuka grabbed two plates of pie and walked purposefully toward the dining room. The sooner the evening was over, the sooner he could begin planning to repair the damage.

  
****

  
Fuji watched in mute horror as Tezuka collided with his grandfather, who had been standing in the doorway during the hand-on-ass incident and whose face was changing from shades of light green to bright red in intervals like an aluminum Christmas tree. Fuji hadn't noticed the old man until he'd eaten some of the whipped cream off of Tezuka's face.

They were going to die. They were absolutely going to-

"Kunimitsu, come into the dining room. You, too, Fuji-kun." Kunikazu turned on his heal and exited.

If worse came to worse, Tezuka could always live at Fuji's house. Fuji would take care of him and give him a place of honor on the couch.

"I believe," Kunikazu said once they were reseated at the table, "that Kunimitsu has something he would like to tell us."

Tezuka toyed with the hem of his shirt and stared at the table, silent.

"Tezuka," Fuji whispered, elbowing him in the side. "Say something." His heart was beating out of his chest, everyone was staring at them, and all Fuji could do was sit there and wait until Tezuka got up the will to open his idiot mouth and-

"I'm not ashamed," Tezuka said, finally, taking Fuji's hand in his own and placing their entwined hands on the table. He turned to his parents and, after a deep breath, said, "I'm dating Fuji. I've observed the risks and decided this for myself." He pulled Fuji's hand a little closer, crushing it to his chest. If the atmosphere weren't so tense, Fuji would pull away – also, pulling away after such a fantastically monotone but nevertheless heartfelt confession wouldn't do much to convince Tezuka's parents that they were serious.

"No sex," Tezuka's father said. "Absolutely no sex."

Fuji thought what Tezuka's father didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"And no unsupervised sleepovers," Ayana added. She was wringing her napkin in her hands but looked otherwise cheerful. Fuji knew that look, though, it was the 'I'm trying not to do someone physical harm' look. He used it whenever Yuuta's St. Rudolph friends visited the house.

"No sex," Kuniharu repeated, this time looking at Fuji.

Fuji nodded because he had no problems lying to Tezuka's parents. If they were foolish enough to believe that, alone with Tezuka in a dark, unsupervised room, Fuji would simply sit back and converse about mundane things instead of making the most of his youth, then that was their problem. He couldn't be held responsible for their stupidity.

"We were hoping it was a phase," Ayana sighed, leaning over to rest her head on her husband's shoulder. "We bought books on the subject to prepare ourselves but…" She looked at Fuji then to her son. "It's not what we expected," she said, finally.

"You'll have to work twice as hard as anyone else," Tezuka's grandfather said, pointing at their still entwined and now sweaty hands. "Do you think you can just waltz out there in your pink shirts and expect them to take you seriously? Of course not! You have to work hard, be better than the competition."

Now Fuji knew where Tezuka's competitive streak came from.

"Yes sir." Tezuka squeezed Fuji's hand tighter.

"And don't think this will let you off the hook, young man." Kunikazu took a drink from his sake cup. "Your parents and I have researched adoption options for you. Just because you're living with a man doesn't mean we'll let you out of your duty to the family."

An image of Tezuka walking a stern-faced child to school flashed across Fuji's mind. "Isn't it a bit early to be thinking about-"

"Preparedness," Kunikazu said, interrupting Fuji, "is the key to success, Kunimitsu. Your parents and I could have waited around for you to tell us, ignoring the signs, but we were proactive! We tested you, observed you, and now we can move forward and be productive."

"Tests?" Tezuka asked, staring at his parents. "What tests?"

"Well, the shirts, dear. We figured that, if it were true you were…like you are, then you wouldn't object." Ayana's cheeks flushed and she looked away, toward the corner of the room. "It was in our book."

Fuji was never allowing Tezuka near any relationship or self-help books. Never.

  
*******

  
"I'm sorry." It was all Tezuka could say, the only thing he could think to say after an hour and a half of 'there will be no sex' and 'do your duty, Kunimitsu.' If that hadn't been enough, his grandfather spoke for half an hour on the evils of venereal disease and informed Tezuka and Fuji that 'when they were older' he had a PowerPoint presentation he could get from the Tokyo metro police station's vault that detailed safe techniques. The PowerPoint, he said, was a key piece of evidence against a yakuza-run male brothel that he'd busted back in the mid-90's.

"It's fine, Tezuka." Tezuka expected Fuji would have kissed him had his parents not been watching from between the living room curtains. Instead, Fuji shook his hand and winked. "Dinner was lovely."

"I didn't make the chicken."

Fuji laughed and touched his finger to his lips before touching Tezuka's nose. "It was delicious, Tezuka. You don't need to lie. Besides," he glanced at the window and waved, "I have seven pies at home and can't eat them by myself. Yumiko's on a diet and Yuuta says he won't eat any unless he can have friends over."

Tezuka hazarded a look toward the house. The windows were empty.

"I'll expect you at six tomorrow, Tezuka. You can bring one of your delicious chickens and I'll provide the pie."

In the dark, amongst the sounds of crickets, their lips met briefly and all was well in the world. Then they parted, and Tezuka wondered how in the world he was going to convince his mother to roast a chicken for him.


End file.
